The Female Vanguard
by SomeoneThatExists
Summary: It was one thing to get reborn in a whole new universe, said universe being the Dragon Age world. It was, however, another thing to be reborn as a Hurlock Vanguard in the same world. I probably earned an achievement being the first female Vanguard to be popped out of the broodmother too. [twist in the OC reincarnation plot bunny; written because of a weird mind] T for language.
1. Chapter 1

**This was written because someone has nothing else to do at home, that someone being me. This'll probably be a short story only, with maybe about a thousand words per chapter...but really, it all mostly depends on if I get enough ideas to power this story.**

**Time to put a twist in the typical reincarnation plot bunny, yeah?**

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><p><em><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I don't own Dragon Age! I only own this story and my little female vanguard~  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter 1\**

Reincarnation _sucks_.

I mean, if I probably didn't get reborn like this, it might be fine for me.

But this? This is just...**ugh**. It feels so, so, so very very _wrong_.

It was already one thing to get reborn in a different world, said world being the Dragon Age world, but it was another to be reborn as a Hurlock Vanguard in the same world. I probably earned an achievement being the first _female_ Vanguard to be popped out of the broodmother.

Speaking of broodmothers, I have every intention of grossing you out with the details of my birth as a vanguard. I remember in a previous life that my brothers were arguing about just how exactly the broodmother gives birth to little baby hurlocks. First of all, the hurlocks and genlocks are born adult, rotting skin and all. The Emissaries are the one to put on the hurlocks' armor and pretty much just makes them grab whatever weapon you can see in the pile. The weapons themselves vary in quality and quantity, as if the ummmm, 'on-duty' hurlocks get them from corpses and throw them in the mockery of an 'armory' that we have.

As for _how_ we are born, we pretty much pop out the fleshy sacs when we're ready. If you've played the game, you would remember that there was a sort of flesh-like cavern where the broodmother was. The sacs are attached to the hundreds of tentacles that run under the flesh-like cavern, like a pipe, then the sacs itself attaches to the walls like a giant poppable blister. The tentacles are comparable to an umbilical cord that attaches the sac to the broodmother, now that I think about it. Once the hurlock or genlock pops out of the sac, the sac itself shrinks and rots. Disgusting isn't it?

There is a cycle in the breeding too. Hurlocks and genlocks bring women to feed them the same thing the broodmother uses to make hurlock-babies which in turn, turns them into broodmothers. Some of the men are taken and forced to enter a sac, while others are eaten by the broodmother, if not killed by the hurlocks and genlocks on the way. If the men survive being in the sac, they get turned into Vanguards. If not, well, they're dead by that time anyway.

If you're wondering how I can be like this even as I watch men and women turn into monsters...well, I don't really know. I mean, I get that I was reborn in this world, but the surroundings, the sounds, the graphics, per se, are exactly as it is in the game. The physics in this world are very different than the ones from Earth. Not to mention magic. I definitely believe in magic now. I guess, I've sort of accepted it somehow. After spending a decade underground, I've become numb to the game-ish blood and gore happening in it. And after being reborn in this world, I've also noticed that all of my negative emotions were amplified. Exponentially. Like, take humanity's general 'ewww-get-the-fuck-away-inferior-beings' attitude to the elves and multiply it by eternity. It won't even be _close_.

That, and the Archdemon keeps me on a very tight leash. When I've been born, I've been noticeably different. I still had distinct feminine features, my face wasn't affected though the rest of my skull was. My hair was replaced by spikes and four horns, two facing front and two facing back. My skin was not really rotting, but it was hardened and smooth as leather. I could probably withstand maybe three or four ogre hits, max. There were spikes growing out of my collar bone, the back of my elbow joint, the side of my hips and on my knees. My spine was lined with tiny spikes, almost reminiscent of the Archdemon's back. I also had bone tentacle things growing out of my lower back. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on which side you were), I absolutely had no skill in fighting. The best I can do was deflect arrows and dodge spells, maybe throw in a few kicks in there.

Now that I think about it, I kind of look like Sarah Kerrigan from Starcraft. Only I was much more disgusting and had horns. Apparently, this was because instead of the broodmother fluid that turns people into hurlocks, the fluid, or whatever was used on the others, whatever was used on me was from the Archdemon itself.

I mean, oh my god, I had a dragon for a dad and a disgusting cannibal mutated fat mother.

I was the only one of my kind though apparently there was another who had undergone the same thing I did and didn't survive. In the end, the only thing that I carried over from my past life were my memories of the game series and my penchant for acting. I absolutely loved playing with the Generals when they were sent to look for me, over and over and _over_ again.

There was a tiny bit weird thing though. Remember how the Archdemon controls the darkspawn, like a queen and its hive? Before I came, the only thing barking orders was the Archdemon and there was no one to say no to him because the rest of the darkspawn were literally just mindless savages hell-bent on following the Archdemon's orders.

But even with the great physical strength the Archdemon had, all it knew was to defeat and dominate. Defeat and dominate, defeat and dominate, the same cycle over and over again. It had logic, it had reason, though it was severely dull in the mind and in thinking for itself. At best, the Archdemon was nothing more than a very powerful savage beast influenced heavily by dark ancient magic.

When I arrived though, and joined the mind hive the Archdemon had, it somehow developed a few curious...traits, for lack of better word. It began thinking, developing and efficiently becoming more ruthless in the progress. Apparently, while it was the Archdemon only doing the mind-influencing back then, now it was being influenced little by little by _my own mind_.

Well, wow huh?

Makes me wonder just how much I messed up the Blight in this universe.

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><p><strong>Because the weirdest of things appear in my mind. Anyone want me to continue this? This is just a sort of test chapter anyway...<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Ah, the joys of being the bad guy...you get to be lazy...most of the time, at least.**

**Thank you to the new faves and follows and reviews! I'm glad people like this. :D**

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><p><em><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I don't own Dragon Age! I only own this story and my little female vanguard~_

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><p><strong>Chapter 2\**

The alpha and I were locked in a staring contest.

Or at least, I deluded myself into thinking that we _were_ in one. It started a while ago, when I was too bored to do anything else, so, I stare. Suddenly, I notice that the hurlock alpha was staring too. And so the impromptu contest began.

Sad, isn't it? No internet, no games, no fanfictions, no nothing except being locked prisoner underground.

You'd think after a decade that I won't be able to remember them but noooo, I still do! How could I not, when I dream of them every night? I dream of them so often, my memories sometimes flit in the hive mind. The Archdemon saw some of my memories once. He didn't really care for most of it, except for some of my knowledge about warfare, like those old movies about Hitler, the World War documentaries, things like that.

It was so...odd, seeing the Archdemon like that.

I remember walking on the fleshed-out walls when the Archdemon suddenly sent me a ping via our brain mail thing. More like a package of feelings and impressions about my first ever official mission.

Apparently, I was to 'infiltrate' the Warden's little group of misfits and 'help' them along their journey. It was sarcasm, of course. I think he means to mess up their little party as much as I want, as long as it was beneficial to the big family.

Maybe I shouldn't have shown him all those spy movies in my memories. Ah well, thankfully, he doesn't know that I know future events. He was just about to send more of the horde to Ostagar, where the beginning of the main storyline begins, and he said that he was essentially leaving me to my devices once he lets me go.

I ask him how I should hide my...excess limbs. Four horns, bone wings and spiky bodies are hard to hide even under a simple cloak. He seems a bit quiet on that for a while before he tells me that the broodmother will make a way for me to hide most of them. Hopefully that 'most' includes my horns.

Of course, I was perfectly fine with that until I remembered that the broodmother often solves problems through one way.

You see a stupid human, throw them in the flesh sac, broodmother will take care of it.

One of the hurlocks got an arm off, oh no! Hurry, put them in the flesh sac! Broodmother can fix it!

The genlock got half his head blown off but is surprisingly still moving! Throw them in the flesh sac! Broodmother knows exactly what to do!

One of the stupider alphas lost his weapon, but instead of going to the armory, goes to the broodmother for help. Why, says broodmother, just get in the sac and everything will be alright!

Broodmother(s) apparently think that everything can be solved through their beloved flesh sacs. Not that it works _all _the time, but seriously alpha? Where is your common sense? Where is your brain, for that matter? I know, it's probably half-rotting in that skull of yours, but do you have to go back to broodmama to fix all your troubles? It's like the broodmothers think that one key can open all the locks in the world.

And apparently, proves that the whole darkspawn army are merely (brood)mama's boys.

I scrunched my face up in disgust at the thought of going in the sac _consciously_ while I was still alive. I ask my dragon-dad if there was any other way.

He says no.

Damn. Looks like I get to go back to the flesh incubator. Flesh-cubator. Nah, flesh incubator sounds better.

I tell dragon-dad _fine_. But he owes me big-time. He only replies with a feeling of approval. I can practically feel it.

Archdemon approves (+50).

When I reach the broodmother den, I had to scowl when the nearest broodmother grunts so unladylike and uses one of her tentacles to lift me into one of the sacs near the ceiling. I cut off the tentacle holding me as soon as it lets me go but broodmother only gives another grunt, still eating some of the carcasses the hurlocks and genlocks were piling up in front of her.

I stick my tongue at her vindictively, knowing that she wouldn't really care either way, so I just close my eyes and tuck my bone wings around myself as the sac closes around me.

This is gonna take a while.

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><p><strong>Yep, the weirdest I've written so far. Which Warden do you guys like to be in the party? Suggestions are always welcome! <strong>

**Oh yes, and it's possible that I can put several Warden origins in the story, just not all of them. Like, if you guys want, I can put Aedan and Alim as recruits, stuff like that. Leave a suggestion if you want! Any feedback is always welcome. Except flames. Definitely except flames.**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own Dragon Age! I only own this story and my little female vanguard~_

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><p><strong>Chapter 3\**

Freedom, is the first thing I think of, the moment my hand manages to scratch a hole through the egg-like... sac thing.

The air was cool against my burning hot _normal-looking _hand. I managed to scratch my way out after what seemed like hours and I didn't care if I fell to the fleshy ground below. I just wanted out.

And fall I did, a few meters higher than I thought. The feeling of the cool air against my blistering hot (and literally new) skin was bliss. I let myself lay down on the fleshy floor for a while as my new ears and eyes tried to adjust.

This is just...damn. I feel like a newborn baby.

It took about half and hour before I could walk and talk properly without sounding like a deranged lunatic. The first thing I did when I managed to get up properly was to get to a mirror. Or a source of clear water, which is hard to find in this place. Hard, but manageable, if you know where to look, which thankfully, I do.

I took off at a straight sprint through the undergrounds I knew as home and by the time I reached the waterfalls, I wasn't even panting. I stared at myself as I stood before the water.

My skin was milk-white, almost sickly in comparison to the fairer shades of the nobles in Thedas. My hair was a deep black, dull in color but curled almost wildly until midback. I had something of an smoky-eye effect going on, even without make-up, which is, to be honest, kind of strange. My eyes were cat-like, a bright glowy silver, exactly like my dragon dad's before he was tainted by darkspawn.

Yes, I do know about the old Tevinter lore where Archdemons were tainted Old Gods. It was easy to piece when I happened upon shadows of an old memory in the hive mind, forgotten even by Urthemiel himself (my dragon dad, the Archdemon of the fifth Blight). To confirm any doubts the fandom might have had, yes, the Old Gods are true.

I'm dredging up what memories I have from my old life and combining them with the old Urthemiel's memories, so here goes. Urthemiel, my dragon dad, was apparently the Dragon of Beauty. He was revered as the most graceful of the Old Gods which is how he got the title. Various dragon cults, almost all tied to the Tevinter Imperium, had legends of him having a daughter called Urzara, before he became tainted. I searched his old memories if this was true but I couldn't find anything except a blurred image of a woman with dragon wings and a tail. Almost like me, except for the tail.

I don't know about you, but my name certainly isn't Urzara.

Anyhow, continuing my self-inspection, I found that my body was lean and toned, most likely specializing in speed and agility. And I was tall, at least 6"5, at most 6"6. I turned and inspected my back, definitely feeling my bone wings under my skin. I tried shifting it a bit and saw something under my skin move so I suspect I can probably pop it out if I want to. It's almost like having a giant worm swimming around your intestines which is quite disgusting.

I sigh when I realize that the broodmother had done its job well. I was hoping that it would mess up so that I won't be starting with my mission so soon.

I sense disapproval from the hive mind.

Sorry, I tell dragon-dad, but I don't remember how to be human. Can you _feel_ the sarcasm oozing from my words?

Dragon-dad tells me to man up and start the mission.

I hiss out some expletives at him before agreeing reluctantly. It wouldn't do to anger the Archdemon, dad or no.

I sigh to myself before turning back the way I came. This is going to be...troublesome.

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><p><strong>All research regarding Dragon Age lore is taken from the Dragon Age wikia.<strong>


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